


Perhaps

by gregariousGrandeur



Series: Relics of a Time Long Since Past [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 15:25:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11603427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gregariousGrandeur/pseuds/gregariousGrandeur
Summary: The Abstruse reflects on what was, what is, and what will be.Headsman/Abstruse





	Perhaps

**Author's Note:**

> This is a oneshot for fan ancestors for a session called Hearthfixed! The only character that's mine in this is Abstruse! Also for clarification, Delime/Caitif never really figured out what their relationship was before the scratch, and as ancestors they're more close to love beyond the quadrants but call it flush most of the time, even if they don't really know what they are (which is why she's referred to as 'love' a lot rather than any official term).

Her eyes remain locked on the opaque orb in front of her.  
  
She only just remembers to blink, so preoccupied with the work she has committed herself to. The frantic scratching of her quill on parchment is the only sound in the hive at this late hour, and though she writes with haste, her handwriting is, as always, impeccable. Her lusus had seen to that at a young age. The dark ink against the pale page serves as some sort of metaphor, of that she is certain, even if she couldn't find it in her to care about what it was.  
  
Her companion shifts in her sleep, and Caitif looks to her love, deep in slumber in their shared bed across the room. Soft light filters in through the closed curtains, settling on Delime's body like a thin veil of gossamer. Her blood pusher skips a beat at the sight, and she can feel her own face soften as she smiles gently at her love. She looks so peaceful, her face relaxed and body free of its usual tension. Caitif wants to look at her longer, but sighs and returns to her writing.  
  
The ink has dried from her previous writing, and so she turns the page and begins anew on the blank slate before her.  
  
She knew, in the end, that her effort would be futile. She had known it all these years, ever since she had stepped foot into her hive for the first time. She'd known these journals would be lost to time, she'd known that she would be nothing more than a whispered name in time. This would all amount to nothing, it would all be meaningless in the end, and the only reason she even bothered was out of the small sense of duty retained from another life.   
  
A life that she had never truly lived.  
  
Beforus.  
  
It had existed somewhere beyond the bounds of time and space she knew, so many eons ago, back when she was a naive child who wanted nothing more than for her friends to have fun and be safe. Once upon a time when her only worry was who she would take care of eventually, when she didn't have to worry about anything more than what she would wear that day. When her friends were pestering her with their daily petty teen relationshp drama, and when she and Delime were still figuring out... well, whatever it was that their relationship had been.   
  
She yearned for those days once again, if she was being truthful with herself.   
  
She yearned for the days when she laughed and lived and loved more than a select group of people. When she didn't have to sleep so light that a slight breeze woke her instantly. When she could fall asleep with a group of people around her. She longed for those days with every beat of her heart, but she'd long since accepted that they would never come back. Every time she saw the face of one of her old friends, every moment they spoke, meeting her for the first time, it hammered home the fact that she could never have those days back.   
  
They had never happened, after all.  
  
She sighed, brushing her hair back behind her ear.  
  
She had to chronicle what she knew of the world that had never existed in this iteration of time. It was what must come to pass, and she was the only one who could do this. She was the only one who could complete this task, except, perhaps, for Dorian, wherever she may be. Though... based on previous experiences, she wasn't entirely sure that Dorian (or whatever name she went by now...) would be invested in this tedious chronicling of life. Even though it was her job as a Seer, especially one of life. Who knew, perhaps Dorian had already written about their lives, and was selling books based on things from their old life.  
  
Hah, what a joke.  
  
Such tedious chronicling, having to write every experience she had ever had? Caitif highly doubted that Dorian would have done so without alterations. These books were only safe in the hands of those who would play the game next, and who better than the next player of void? Yes, her books, though it would have been better fitting to leave with the next Seer, she could not know if the sand dweller could be trusted, could not know if her books would be safe in the vast sea of sand. And though she loved Delime greatly, she knew these books would not be safe with her love, nor her descendant.   
  
A home among the Mage's library could be fitting, but it would not be made for decades to come, and she could not trust any hiding place would be found. Dorian she couldn't trust to keep the tales to herself (nor did she know where the Seer even was - the two had never been particularly close, and she had neither cared nor wanted to find her again), and using Dorian as a base, her descendant likely wouldn't either. Veklov... she hadn't spoken to Veklov since... well, she supposed she had never spoken to him here, a shame, considering what they could have had, in both worlds.  
  
She'd seen him for the first time when she was still serving Joruda, and although she had stuck to the shadows, and the two had hardly a second of eye contact, that phantom pain had risen back up into her chest. Since she had quit her position as Assassin, she had found him a few more times, whenever the loneliness was too much to bear, whenever she'd wanted to check in on him due to the feeling that she still felt loyalty to, even in another life.   
  
But no, although she wanted to trust him implicitly, she knew it was better for her own head if she didn't. Besides, he had journals of his own, and it wouldn't do to leave them in the same place. You never left two of your most valuable possessions in the same place, after all. Besides, this was a duty she was passing to her descendant, who hopefully, would actually help her team. This knowledge was precious, and would be a great help one day.  
  
It was her duty, even though she had never bore that fateful gear upon her chest.  
  
This was the only thing she could do, the only thing that she -  
  
"Why are you up so late?"  
  
Delime wrapped her arms around Caitif's shoulders, resting her chin on the top of her head.   
  
"I was writing." Caitif chuckles, tiredly taking Delime's hand in her own and kissing it. "I couldn't sleep."  
  
It wasn't the truth, but her only alternative to saying that she felt as though she were running out of time. She was, she knew it, the orb had told her so when she had asked. She had to write them now or-  
  
"Oh?" Delime asks, idly tracing the symbol of their quadrant on Caitif's skin with her nail. "Because it sounds a lot less like that, then something else, considering you've been staring at that blank page for the greater part of ten minutes."  
  
"I-"  
  
"Don't lie to me." She says sharply, arms tightening around Caitif's sholders.  
  
Caitif sighs, and nods, closing the page and corking her ink bottle.   
  
"It's very hard to concentrate, what with you holding me like this you know." Caitif hums, leaning back against Delime. 

"Oh is it?" She smirks, and Caitif turns to see that smug, sharp toothed grin she loves.  
  
"Mhmm." Caitif hums, rubbing her thumb along the skin of Delime's hands. "I suppose I'll return to bed with you, then."   
  
Delime grins, and Caitif returns to bed, the two resting together.  
  
Caitif hummed lightly as she rested her head against Delime's shoulder, nuzzling her neck. She smelled of sweat and something she couldn't quite place, Caitif thought idly as she reached for Delime's hand to take it. The blanket, although it was softer and more luxurious than she probably ought to have, was like rough wool when compared to her love's touch. The hive may as well have been ice when compared to the heat of her love, and she may as well have been the moon attempting to bask in the glow of the sun while next to her love.  
  
"You're doing it again." Delime sighs, rolling her eyes and pulling Caitif closer.  
  
"Oh?" Caitif asks, snapping out of her thoughts and raising an eyebrow. "What am I doing again?"

"That thing, where you get lost in your own thoughts." Delime laughed, poking Caitif in the forehead. "Are you being poetic in your head again?"  
  
"Maybe." Caitif laughed, closing her eyes and snuggling closer to Delime.  
  
Journals and descendants could wait another night. It could wait until she had spent time with her love, until she slept through the blisteringly hot sun, and until she awoke and went to her next job. It could wait until she had returned, and rested, and enjoyed the presence of the love of her life. Everything else could wait for the time being, because, after all, if she did have little time left, she wanted it to be spent with her love.  
  
And perhaps, if one or two questions of an age gone by were asked, she would answer. Perhaps, if her love asked, she would tell her a story of two kids who played a game that cost them everything. Perhaps she would tell the tale of those children finding happiness with each other, and maybe she would tell another tale. A tale of a world that was softer and kinder than what they had been given, a world where she and her love did not need to worry about being killed for their relationship, where she and her love could have lived in relative peace. Perhaps, if the time allowed, a soft voice would tell tales of a remembered time that wasn't her own.   
  
But for now, this was enough.  
  
After all, she had all the time in the world to write those books. She didn't have long with her lover, because Caitif knew she was fated to die. Would it be on her next job? Would Caitif die from an assassination gone wrong? She simply didn't know, but she knew her time with her love was numbered, and that was alright. She would have outlived her love anyway, and she can't bear the thought of seeing her love slowly fade away. And she couldn't stand the thought of her love aging while Caitif herself stayed youthful.  
  
But that was a thought for another day.  
  
After all, it wasn't like Delime would be dead before Caitif could return.

 

 

  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

  
Centuries later, just as planned, a chest worn by time would remain, and the relics of a time long since past would remain safely inside. The deep blue paint, though stripped from the soft wood, and the rusted metal that only barely held the chest together, would still remain. The sharp-cured symbol etched into the lock, though it had long since lost its sheen and was all but eroded by time, still remained. The warped wood and sharp metal had held, even though it would all but fall apart when touched.  
  
Perhaps, in some other time, the owner of the hive above that space where the chest had been hidden would have ventured deep down into the tunnels below her abode. Perhaps she would have found the ancient pathway, and the door hidden behind rock. Perhaps curiosity would have filled her as she caught a glimpse of wood. Perhaps she would have moved the rocks and found the door behind it, found the ancient treasures and belongings of lovers who had met their cruel ends. Perhaps she would have slowly taken all of it into her home, and carefully looked through the belongings there.  
  
Perhaps, in another time, that girl would have picked up the journals that smelled of ancient blood and ink, and she would have heard the soft voice of someone from ages long since forgotten in the back of her mind. Perhaps, if fate had allowed it, she would have turned the elder, yellowed pages of the journals there, the faint smell of blood and ink curling in her nose as she read the ancient words there. Perhaps that girl would have found something there, perhaps she would have taken those lessons to heart, perhaps she would have used them to become better, faster, to be who she was meant to be. Perhaps she would have felt sorrow for the broken lovers, perhaps she would have cradled the old, broken book of notes left between the two and the sketched pictures  gently pressed between the pages.  
  
Perhaps she would have lifted out an old, opaque orb gleaming with ancient knowledge. Perhaps she would have stared at it for hours on end, endlessly wishing for something that she could never see.  
  
Perhaps.  
  
Perhaps...


End file.
